


What Friends are For

by LadyWallace



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale takes care of his friend, Crowley gets on the wrong side of a curse box, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post Armagedidn't, caring Aziraphale, gen - Freeform, sick crowley, soft bois, supernatural diseases (sort of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:42:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23661760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWallace/pseuds/LadyWallace
Summary: When Crowley gets a horrible illness after a mishap with a relic he and Aziraphale tried to dispose of, Aziraphale is determined to give him the best care possible to get the demon back on his feet. Hurt/comfort, friendship feels, sick!fic
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 156





	What Friends are For

**Author's Note:**

> For Doyleco, hope this was what you were looking for! Enjoy ^_^

It took Crowley a few minutes to blink the grogginess away from his eyes before he realized something was wrong.

What exactly did he remember? Honestly, he wasn't entirely sure. Flashes of some sort of basement that had been reopened in an old house crossed his mind's eye, but why? What had he been doing there? It was something, some job he and Aziraphale had taken upon themselves to do. But exactly _what_ that job had been he couldn't recall.

Or, he couldn't recall anything except the image of some box, falling to the ground, opening up; choking, blinding dust filling the room…

Crowley groaned, raising a hand to his face.

Someone grabbed his wrist though, before he could make contact. "Oh, don't do that, my dear. Best not to touch."

Crowley blinked his eyes open. They felt like someone had scrubbed them out with sand and he vaguely recalled something getting in his eyes, and a lot of pain as he'd choked…

Aziraphale surfaced in his blurry vision and Crowley was able to discern his worried expression.

"There you are, dear boy," the angel coaxed. "Oh, can you see me?"

Crowley nodded, opening his mouth to speak, but got nothing but an aching throat for his troubles. Aziraphale sat back with a sigh of relief.

"Oh good. I was so worried. I think your glasses kept out most of the sand, but some of it still got in your eyes when that wretched thing broke open. I just don't understand what it is with Egyptian artifacts and curses! How do they feel, Crowley? I tried to wash them out as best I could."

Egyptian artifacts, that was right. Crowley remembered now. They'd gone to an old house to properly dispose of some things that had been found in the basement. They were supposed to have done it to keep any humans who might come across the stuff safe. Wish Crowley could have said the same thing about them.

He vaguely recalled Aziraphale bending him over a sink and cupping water over his eyes to ease the burn, but the memory was fuzzy.

Crowley again opened his mouth, but his throat started aching again instantly, and he could only cough instead of talking, a whimper escaping his throat instead.

Aziraphale saw his distress and stood from his place in a chair by the bed. "I'll get you some water. Just sit tight, dear."

He left the small room and Crowley finally realized he was in Aziraphale's rarely used apartment above the bookshop. The bed was comfortable, for which he was glad. However, he did sit up so it would make it easier for him to drink.

The upward movement seemed to aggravate his diaphragm and a cough unexpectedly burst from his chest as his lungs spasmed.

Pain tore through his throat, and Crowley doubled over, gagging and clutching his neck, as his abused eyes watered.

"Crowley? My dear, what's wrong?"

Aziraphale rushed toward the bed and all Crowley could do was clutch at his cardigan, unable to say anything.

As the pain subsided briefly, He finally got a deep breath in, but even that was still incredibly painful.

Aziraphale gently cupped his jaw and lifted his head. "Is it your chest or your throat? Don't try to speak, just show me."

Crowley pointed to his throat. He couldn't have spoken even if he'd wanted to. Tears were still streaming from his eyes as he tried to breathe as shallowly as possible. Though honestly, his lungs also hurt pretty badly, burning slightly. He remembered inhaling some of that dust from the Egyptian artifact, choking, but in that moment his eyes had hurt worse than anything else so he hadn't noticed it too much.

Aziraphale looked worried but grabbed the glass of water again. "Do you think this would help?"

Crowley shrugged. "Try it," he whispered, clenching his jaw against the pain that even talking caused.

Aziraphale handed him the glass and Crowley put it to his lips and took a cautious sip.

The water felt like fire. Instinctive terror tore through him and Crowley's eyes popped open as he threw the glass across the room where it shattered.

"Crowley, what—?" Aziraphale demanded, shocked, as Crowley collapsed sideways, clutching his throat, absolutely positive that the angel had mistakenly given him holy water. Why else would it have hurt so bad?

"Crowley!" Aziraphale cried, sounding horrified as he gripped the demon's shoulder, rubbing gently as he tried to sooth him. "Is it really that bad?"

Crowley finally felt the pain subsiding again and he opened his eyes, glancing up at the angel with his jaw clenched.

Aziraphale pressed his lips into a worried line. "Did you inhale some of the sand as well?"

Crowley nodded again.

Aziraphale's brow furrowed even further. "Might I look at your throat?"

Crowley shrugged, not really seeing the point.

"Let me get a light," Aziraphale bustled off to do just that and returned with a torch. Crowley sat up and tilted his head back, opening his mouth with grudging obedience as Aziraphale turned him toward the light with a gentle touch to his chin.

The angel's gasp made the demon's stomach curl.

He grunted a question and Aziraphale pulled back, biting his lip as he switched off the light.

"It…it looks quite bad, I'm afraid," was all he could say. "Oh, Crowley, it must be agonizing. I'm so sorry."

Crowley stared at the angel. "What…?" His voice cut off in a whimper and he clenched his jaw to stop himself from speaking again.

Aziraphale quickly scrambled to open the drawer in the bedside table and pulled out a notepad and pen. Crowley accepted them and scribbled out. " _How bad?"_

Aziraphale sighed. "It looks like the sand has formed sores in your throat. I'm honestly glad the same can't be said about your eyes, though they are looking rather more red than yellow at the moment. It looks almost like a very bad case of strep throat. I would say we should not try to strain it more than necessary."

Crowley nodded in agreement. He certainly wasn't going to try.

Aziraphale stood up again. "I'll go get you some tea and honey. I imagine that will help sooth your throat a little more than water." He glanced at the broken glass and with a snap of his fingers it repaired itself and sat in his hand. He halted for a moment, staring at the glass, lips parting before he turned back around to Crowley. "My dear, I do hope…you didn't think I gave you holy water, did you?"

Crowley shrugged, not wanting to hurt the angel by saying he had, for however brief a second, indeed thought just that. Aziraphale sighed. "You know I would never do that. I'm going to take good care of you, Crowley. That's what friends are for, right?"

Crowley relaxed slightly, becoming more and more exhausted as the pain seemed to sap his energy from him. He nodded gratefully and Aziraphale smiled. "I'll be right back," he promised and left the room.

Crowley still felt a little bad about his mind going instantly to holy water. While he might, at one point, have completely suspected that any angel would take this opportunity to do away with him while he was so weak, he obviously knew that Aziraphale would not. Since they had stopped the apocalypse together, their Arrangement of many years had turned into more of a legitimate partnership since they didn't bother hiding what they were doing from either of their home offices anymore. Now they simply went around taking odd cases and helping people and sometimes disposing of dangerous supernatural artifacts. Which is what had gotten them into this trouble in the first place.

Crowley rubbed his throat subconsciously, as he felt a tickle starting in it. He really didn't want to cough. He knew it would feel terrible.

Aziraphale came back quickly with tea almost thick with honey and handed the mug to Crowley.

"Just careful sips," he coaxed gently. "Best not overdo it."

Crowley sipped a little of the tea, and though the warmth and the coating aspect of the honey did sooth a little, the act of swallowing hurt almost more than anything else. He tried again to see if it got easier, but it only brought tears of pain to his eyes and he stopped before he would have to cough, handing the cup back to Aziraphale and allowing a small whimper to escape his throat.

Aziraphale sighed as he took the cup. "Well, I suppose it's a start. Do you want me to see if I can find something else that will help?"

Crowley shook his head tiredly and sank back against the pillows. Aziraphale seemed to realize how tired he was, and pulled the blankets over him, tucking them gently around him.

"Just rest, dear. Hopefully this will clear up within a couple days like a bad cold."

Crowley blinked his aching eyes, hoping the angel was right. Aziraphale set the teacup on the side table and straightened up. "Do you want me to leave you to rest?" he asked.

Crowley gave his answer by reaching out and grabbing Aziraphale's sleeve. The angel smiled gently and pulled the chair back over to the side of the bed.

"Don't worry then, dear. I won't go anywhere."

Crowley closed his eyes and did his best to sleep.

_~~~~~~~_

_It didn't clear up_ within a couple days—in fact, it only got worse.

Within the first twenty-four hours, Crowley began to contract a terrible dry cough from the residual sand that had been caught in his lungs, the act of which only proved to make his throat hurt worse.

Aziraphale sat with him through the night, doing everything he could, which, unfortunately, was, physically, very little. The most he could do was just try to keep Crowley as comfortable as possible.

Crowley might feel better if he rested, but he couldn't rest. Every time his breathing evened out in sleep, it would cause him to cough again, the pain instantly forcing him awake.

Crowley grabbed the notepad and scribbled something out on it. _Cursed object?_ It read.

Aziraphale sighed, shaking his head. "I don't know. The archeologists are pretty sure that there really are no such thing as Egyptian curses—that it's just a type of mold responsible for the sickness and deaths of so many of that occupation."

Crowley furrowed his brow, scribbling out some more text. _Mold that would hurt a demon?_

"Honestly, I have no idea," Aziraphale said helplessly. "We know at least some of the things in that basement were cursed. It was owned previously by someone into occult practices in the Victorian era—shockingly someone who actually knew what they were doing—so it's possible this was too, and I'm rather inclined to believe it."

Crowley paled, and slumped back onto the pillows tiredly. Aziraphale reached out and patted his hand gently.

"Please do not fret, dear boy. I'm sure you will make a swift and complete recovery."

Crowley didn't look convinced and tried to fall into another fitful sleep as Aziraphale worried.

He looked through his books to see if he could find anything helpful, and brought a whole stack of them up to the apartment to look through while he kept an eye on Crowley, but even after hours of research, looking through every book that could remotely have what he wanted, he still hadn't found anything to help his friend, or even to figure out what might have happened to him. It looked like they were on their own with this.

Aziraphale wished, not for the first time, considering all the scrapes they had gotten themselves into over the years, that he could heal demons.

_~~~~~~~_

_The dry cough_ became something much worse within the next day. Crowley had seen torment in Hell, even if he hadn't really ever cared to participate in it. He'd seen true suffering, and yet he'd never really personally experienced anything that could compare until now.

If only he could keep his lungs from spasming so he just wouldn't cough! Every time he coughed, it felt like his throat was being ripped out by one of the barbed whips they liked to use in Hell's dungeons. And it was nearly constant. Crowley didn't think he'd ever come this close to eternal torment.

And there was nothing he or Aziraphale could do. The angel had even tried forcing human grade cough medicine down his throat, and it had done nothing for him. Crowley could really do little more than sit in bed, doubled over with coughing fits, and feeling like his throat was being ravaged by fire.

He couldn't sleep either. As if the pain wasn't bad enough, the coughs constantly woke him and he couldn't rest his throat long enough to stop feeling the urge to cough. It was a horrible paradox that he wished would end.

Aziraphale kept trying different remedies but nothing really seemed to work, and anything Crowley tried to swallow just felt like glass in his throat.

"I have another idea to try," Aziraphale told him. Crowley sighed wearily. He wasn't exactly expecting much.

"There now, up you come," Aziraphale coaxed and Crowley, bemused, climbed out of the bed and followed the angel to the bathroom where Aziraphale sat him down and turned on the shower as hot as it would go.

Crowley gave him a questioning look, fighting back the urge to cough again and Aziraphale offered him a small, hopeful smile. "The steam is good for a cough. It will loosen your lungs a little, make breathing easier, which will, hopefully, in theory, keep you from coughing so much."

Crowley blinked, not having thought of that. The room was filling with steam and heating up and Aziraphale's face was already getting pink. He fanned himself, warm with his housecoat on. "Do you need anything, Crowley? I'll leave you here for a little while then."

He left the room and closed the door behind him. Crowley sat in the steam, actually rather enjoying the warmth as well as he was rather chilled. He coughed a little, wrapping his arms around his thin chest, but the steam did actually seem to soothe him a little. It was helping his eyes too, which had still been a little sore and gritty feeling.

It actually, miraculously did help to subdue his cough until he could almost breathe normally again.

By the time Aziraphale returned to check on him, Crowley was actually rather relaxed, eyes half closed as he simply concentrated on breathing without making himself cough.

"Is it helping?" Aziraphale asked hopefully.

Crowley nodded and Aziraphale looked relived.

"Oh, good. You can stay in here for a few more minutes, then."

Crowley nodded again, already almost falling asleep. He was so tired and this had been the first time in two days that he hadn't been in complete agony.

When Aziraphale came to fetch him, he willingly went back to the bed and lay down as Aziraphale tucked the blankets around him. Crowley was still breathing easily and he closed his eyes and drifted off into the first restful sleep he's had since this had all happened.

_Crowley woke to_ the feeling of a spiked ball in the back of his throat. He whimpered in his half-awake state, and reached up to rub his neck.

Even that small movement caused his chest to spasm and he couldn't help the wracking cough that burst from his throat.

The coughing didn't stop, and Crowley doubled over, curling around himself as he fought for breath, his throat feeling like someone had simply shoved a fiery poker down there.

Tears streamed from his eyes and he clutched his aching chest as he fought for breath. But that only made him start coughing again.

Something hot and wet spattered across his lips and Crowley reached up with a shaking hand to touch it, pulling his fingers away and seeing red smeared there.

Blood.

He barely heard the footsteps pounding into the room as Aziraphale burst through the door. "Crowley? Oh, good Heavens! What's the matter?"

He ran to his friend and wrapped his arms around the demon's thin chest, supporting him as he tried to breathe.

Crowley simply shook his head, convulsively swallowing the metallic taste in the back of his throat, which only made it feel worse. It seemed to hurt more now than it had earlier and if he was bleeding, then it was no wonder.

"Let me see," Aziraphale coaxed gently and tipped Crowley's head back. Crowley whimpered and fought back the urge to cough as he opened his mouth and allowed Aziraphale to angle his head so he could look at his throat. Even that movement hurt, though and he found himself clutching at the angel as if pleading with him to relieve his pain.

Aziraphale's expression changed drastically and a small gasp escaped his throat.

Crowley didn't have time to inquire, he simply wrenched himself from Aziraphale's grasp and turned aside to cough into his hands, feeling more blood spatter onto his palms.

Aziraphale pulled him against his chest and held him tightly as he coughed.

"Easy, easy, dear," he almost pleaded, rubbing Crowley's back soothingly. "It looks like the coughing has agitated the sores, hence the blood."

It wasn't what Crowley wanted to hear, but it wasn't like he could really do anything about it either. Not if he couldn't stop coughing.

"Just try to relax and breathe," Aziraphale said.

Crowley wanted to lash out at him, but it wasn't the angel's fault. After all, he was only trying to help.

Crowley eventually slumped against him when the pain had subsided a little and the coughing stopped. Aziraphale held him gently for a few more minutes before laying him back against the pillows and whispering that he would be right back.

Crowley lay there, staring at the ceiling, exhausted as he blinked tears from his eyes.

Aziraphale returned as quickly as promised with a cloth and something wrapped in a tea towel. He took the wet cloth and wiped the blood from Crowley's mouth and hands and lifted the other item.

"This is cold, but I'm hoping it will help," he said as he took the ice pack and positioned it across Crowley's throat.

It was shocking on his skin and goosebumps broke out down his neck and arms, but after a couple minutes, the cool began to seep into his aching throat, and Crowley had to admit that it was actually rather soothing.

Aziraphale sat down and began to read to him, unprompted, from some rather nonsensical book that Crowley normally probably would have enjoyed quite a bit. However, at this moment, he was mostly just comforted by the sound of the angel's voice as he read on and on. Crowley reached out tentatively and Aziraphale, seeing the movement, took hold of his searching fingers and gave a comforting squeeze. Crowley closed his eyes, fighting through the pain to try and rest again.

He knew it was going to be a long road ahead.

_~~~~~~~_

_Aziraphale was starting_ to reach his wit's end. It seemed like Crowley wasn't getting any better. In fact, because he couldn't seem to stop coughing long enough to do any good, his throat just got more and more flayed by the sores opening with the agitation. This was truly a horrible curse, and Aziraphale hated so much seeing anyone suffer so badly, let alone his dear friend.

It seemed to him that Crowley was wasting away. Not being human, neither of them needed to eat to survive, but somehow, Crowley still seemed to become gaunt and pale, his cheekbones almost sharp on his face and his ribs clearly visible every time his chest heaved with labored breaths. Perhaps it was the pain that was taking its toll on Crowley's body, but either way, Aziraphale hated seeing his friend like this. He would have given anything to be in Crowley's place right now so that the demon didn't have to endure what he was going through.

He continued to try everything he could think of that might reasonably help. He Tried hot and cold drinks and soup, but it didn't seem to matter much because it was more the act of swallowing than anything that hurt Crowley. Even sitting him in the steamy bathroom was only a temporary relief and too often the hot water ran out before he could get Crowley to sleep.

Crowley continued to cough up blood too, ruining his throat further. The wastebin beside the bed was filled with bloody Kleenex and it made Aziraphale sick with the thought.

More often than not now, Aziraphale sat by Crowley's bedside, reading to him or simply watching over him in his fitful sleep, so he could be there if he had an episode.

It continued like that far too long for Aziraphale's liking.

He sat by Crowley's bed, watching the demon's thin chest rise jerkily with shallow breaths, every exhale releasing a soft whimper of pain. Crowley was curled in on himself, dark circles staining the space under his eyes and his hair matted and disheveled, pressed against the pillow. Aziraphale was holding his breath, praying that Crowley would be able to sleep for long enough to start to recover. If only a little bit at a time, at least it would be something.

But all too soon, another cough burst out of Crowley and he folded up, nearly hitting his nose against his knee as he coughed.

Aziraphale quickly grabbed a Kleenex and reached out to prop his friend up against his chest, holding the Kleenex against Crowley's mouth as he coughed and choked, tears of agony slipping down his cheeks.

Aziraphale rested his cheek on top of Crowley's head as the demon shuddered, gasping for breath again, but mostly just starting the horrible process over again.

"Easy," Aziraphale whispered, reaching up to stroke his hair out of his face before rocking Crowley gently, his other hand rubbing soothing circles against Crowley's aching chest, trying to tend to some of the knotted muscles there, but mostly just pressing against the too-prominent ribs.

Crowley finally sagged against him completely, his body having no strength left to do anything else. A hoarse sob escaped his throat and Aziraphale grabbed another Kleenex, wiping the tears away from Crowley's face.

"There, my dear," he whispered, pulling Crowley closer to him. "Just rest. Please just rest."

Crowley raised a shaking hand and clutched at Aziraphale as if to anchor himself. He didn't have to tell the angel how much it hurt, Aziraphale knew, and he cradled the demon gently as he sat back against the headboard to hold Crowley more comfortably.

"You'll get through this," he promised. Crowley shook his head against Aziraphale's chest and the angel ran his fingers gently and soothingly through Crowley's hair. "I promise you will."

Crowley whimpered again, his body shaking with suppressed coughs, then he went limp, too exhausted to worry anymore. Aziraphale simply rocked him gently, and, again, prayed for him to heal. Oh, he wished he could heal a demon.

"No more cursed objects," he whispered in a promise. "We'll let someone else deal with it next time. No need for us to always put ourselves in danger."

Except there was, and secretly, Aziraphale knew that and also knew that Crowley would agree. They did have to put themselves in harm's way for the good of the people they had given nearly everything to protect. This wasn't the first time one of them had gotten hurt on a job, and it most likely wouldn't be the last, though Aziraphale always wished it would be. That was just what their lives were now, but he wouldn't trade it for the world and nor would Crowley. The demon _would_ recover and when he did they would be back out there saving the world again, because that's just what they did.

But first, it was Aziraphale's duty to look after his friend. Sometimes charity started at home, and it seemed like the world would have to look after itself for just a little bit longer.

_~~~~~~~_

_All told it was_ two weeks. Two weeks of horrible misery for both of them, Crowley suffering physically, and Aziraphale suffering beside him in everything but the physical pain.

Aziraphale spent a good portion of time, sitting by, feeding Crowley crushed ice which seemed to be one thing that helped at least for a bit. But it didn't seem like any progress was really being made until Aziraphale had the realization that Crowley had slept through the night.

He'd been so tired himself that he'd dozed off in the chair beside the bed, a book in his lap, and hadn't woken until the sun was streaming through the window onto his face. Aziraphale jolted awake and instantly leaned toward Crowley, to check that he was all right.

But Crowley looked okay. He was still breathing a little shakily, but he apparently hadn't woken up to cough for at least six hours, unless Aziraphale had simply been dead to the world.

He sighed in relief, and Crowley stirred, eyes cracking open as he looked around with surprise. Aziraphale smiled at him and touched his arm gently.

"Good morning, dear. Can I get you anything?"

Crowley seemed to be shocked that it was morning, he reached up to rub his throat and glanced toward the cup of melted ice on the side table. Aziraphale quickly got him more and fed it to Crowley, feeling a little better.

It didn't clear up that quickly, of course, but there was definitely improvement now. As the days progressed, Crowley stopped having so many coughing fits, Aziraphale was able to feed him tea and soup, and even got Crowley ice cream, which seemed to soothe his throat nicely. The sores were closing, getting better by the day, and Crowley could even talk with a raspy whisper, though Aziraphale chided him not to.

Whatever that curse box had been, everything seemed to be okay now, or would be soon with Crowley on the mend.

Aziraphale was surprised one morning when Crowley staggered down into the bookshop where Aziraphale was making tea and toast in the kitchenette. He smiled at seeing the demon who was rumpled and sporting spectacular bedhead and still some shadow under his eyes, but he was up and that was better than he had been before.

"Good morning, dear. Tea?" Aziraphale asked, already setting a cup out on the table as Crowley slumped into a chair.

"Please," the demon rasped.

Aziraphale poured a cup and set a piece of toast and jam out as well as honey and cream for the tea. Crowley fixed the drink and toast and cautiously took a sip as Aziraphale sat down, watching him carefully.

Crowley swallowed his bite of toast and glanced up at the angel somewhat suspiciously. "Wot?"

Aziraphale shook himself. "Nothing. I'm just glad you're feeling better is all. It was…" he bit his lip and picked up his cup. "I never want you to have to go through something like that again."

Crowley nodded in agreement and set his tea cup down as he met the angel's eyes. "Thank you. For everything."

Aziraphale smiled gently as he reached across the table and patted the demon's hand. "What are friends for, eh?"

Crowley smiled, and Aziraphale noticed a little more color in his cheeks as he continued to eat.

Aziraphale picked up his cup of tea and hid his sigh of relief in it.

It looked like his friend was going to be okay.


End file.
